The 13 Knaves
by PaintedAbyss
Summary: This was the thirty-fourth time Demyx had been to the pub in the past two months, and he wasn't coming back for the food.


**A/N: All characters in this story are over the age of 21! Thought I might get that out of the way for you. This drabble was actually inspired by an art piece I made a while ago. :P Feel free to check it out if you wish: paintedabyss . deviantart art / The-13-Knaves-313969809 (take out the spaces ^^) Unbeta'd all mistakes are my own (and feel free to point them out if you wish).**

**There is alcohol in this! No underage drinking, but still alcohol. This is rated a tentative T? Because I think it's perfectly fine for teens, but if anyone feels I should up the rating don't hesitate to ask, I don't bite :) **

**Kingdom Hearts © not me**

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This was the thirty-fourth time Demyx had been to the 13 Knaves in the past two months, and he wasn't coming back for the food.

He had first come to the quaint little bar, which resided on Disney and Enix, precisely sixty-one days ago—a Friday if he remembered correctly. There had been numerous fliers posted around Twilight Town (they were kind of hard to miss) boasting of a new establishment that was going to kick off their grand opening night with a "talent night." Naturally, being in a band himself, the prospect of gaining some publicity amongst the citizens of the city struck a chord with him. Any publicity was good publicity, right? And who knew, they might just get lucky (_really_ lucky) and there could be a talent scout in the audience. Thus he and his band found their way to the pub later that week.

They played a total of three songs before calling it a night and giving another local band the stage. He, Axel, and Roxas (Xion decided to go home and sleep and Luxord declared, rather lovingly, that he "would rather muck about the casino than hang out with you little shits any longer than necessary") then commandeered a booth far out of the way of the busy late-night crowd, and proceeded to watch what was on the mindless television (currently a sitcom rerun) mounted firmly on the wall. Soon, however, the thirst for alcohol stretched its needy fingers and took hold of the trio.

Axel had, good-naturedly, told Demyx to bugger off and get them some booze, while he tossed his credit card towards the sitar-player and draped an arm lazily over Roxas' shoulders. Usually, Demyx did not drink much (he never held his liquor well) but honestly, he had no problem with getting shit-faced, if it meant he wouldn't have to endure watching Roxas and Axel eat each other's faces sober. So, he promptly grabbed Axel's card and made his way through the throng of people to the bar.

And _that _was the first time he'd seen Zexion: a surly, slate-haired fellow, around a half a head shorter than him, equipped with the most striking eyes Demyx had ever seen on a man—on a woman—on anyone freaking ever. Seriously, he could stare into their stormy depths for hours and never be able to fathom how something that beautiful could be real. The bartender, currently unbothered by a customer, was scribbling notes quietly on a pad of paper, completely oblivious to Demyx's open-mouthed stare.

He was deep in concentration: eyes downcast, lips slightly parted, sexy fingers, which Demyx could see wrapped around something much more provocative than a ball-point pen, flowing over the paper effortlessly, dragging expressive inky black lines in their wake. Then he paused for a moment, supposedly to survey his work, and lightly tapped the back of his pen to his lower lip lost in thought. Still Demyx stared: the man before him had to be the most appealing thing he'd seen in months (which was truly a saddening thought—he needed to get out more). His incredible eyes flicked upwards and caught sight of…

"Ah, shit." Zexion murmured lowly, while hastily stowing the pad of paper underneath the counter. He cleared his throat and began to speak in a strained-fake-cheery-ish voice "Hi, welcome to the 13 Knaves. What'll you have to drink?" He gave a rather forced smile, which, frankly, looked quite painful, and stared at Demyx expectantly.

Demyx, for the life of him, could not will his usually over-zealous tongue to work. Instead, his mouth flopped about like a fish's for a moment before he shut it entirely and gave a quick smile. He paused, allowing his brain time to work itself back in order before blurting out, half an octave higher than intended, "Three pints, please."

Zexion raised an elegant eyebrow bemused, but turned around to grab some mugs with no remarks about Demyx's strange behavior.

Oh David Bowie… what was that?! Flying mother of holiness that was so un-cool. Seriously, he was like the least cool person in the entire world, and at such a vital moment—! He could have shot himself in the foot. He _should _have shot himself in the foot.

Zexion, naturally, seemed unaware of his customer's inner turmoil and merely traded the drinks for Axel's credit card. He ran the transaction smoothly before handing the card back, and turned his attention to another customer.

Demyx ended up taking the beers back to the happy couple, and then continued to spend the rest of the night sipping his pint and wallowing in a pit of un-coolness.

But it had been sixty-one days since their fated un-cool meeting; it had been thirty-four trips back to the 13 Knaves; it had been twelve run-ins with the intriguing bartender; it had been nine conversations with the man—not that he was counting—and by golly, if time hadn't eased the wounds by now then nothing ever would!

Besides, in all likelihood his amazingly unforgettable bartender had forgotten all about their very first meeting. In fact, his last reunion with him had gone rather swimmingly. Truth by told, Demyx had been almost _suave _the entire night (well, except for the part where he accidentally knocked his water glass onto Larxene's dress—but luckily Zexion had missed him being viciously strangled by her wrath so the overall impression he had given that night must have been okay).

Today, would be different. Today Demyx would not spill his drink. Today Demyx would not faceplant in the middle of the bar. Instead, today Demyx would walk straight up to Zexion, and ask for his number!

…

…Er… No wait, that would seem much too forward; he'd certainly been written off as a creepy stalker if anything. Okay new plan: make some small talk first, casually hint at being madly infatuated with—no, no! Stop. Bad plan. New plan: make small talk, hint at wanting to be _friends_,and then casually ask for his number. That's better, much better. Good plan, Demyx. _Gooooood_ plan.

But for all the prepping he'd put himself through before, the second he walked through the doors to the 13 Knaves, his throat went dry. Demyx made his way to the bar and took a seat on one of the obnoxiously tall stools. He politely ordered a beer—told them to put it on his tab (he'd been here often enough to warrant one)—and proceeded to wait patiently for dusk to turn to night.

It didn't take long for the night-crowd to begin multiplying. This was about the time he and his band had preformed the first night, Demyx mused idly nursing his second beer—he was well on his way to being drunk by now. He watched a girl with deep auburn get up to the mic and begin to sing—slightly tipsy if the slur was anything to go by—swaying her hips sensually eyes locked on the brown-haired guy sitting a couple seats down from him. The poor guy was scarlet by the time she finished and made her way towards him; he couldn't hold her gaze, and instead turned to talk to Riku—another bartender he'd had the pleasure of speaking to when Zexion, unfortunately, was not scheduled to be working.

It had taken a while, but Demyx had finally managed to sneakily work out Zexion's schedule through his personal observations, brief chats with the other bartenders, and his conversations the man himself. He worked Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and the occasional Monday if his other job—serving at the Couch Tomato—would permit. He usually started his shifts around nine and worked until two in the morning, and going by his watch at the moment, Demyx roughly had ten minutes before Zexion arrived.

In fact, now that his nerves had melted away, due to the calming effects of alcohol, Demyx was on the prowl to find his sexy bartender.

- : - : - : -

Zexion's head was pounding, and his was definitely in no mood to deal with drunk-off-their-rocker's bar patrons. But he couldn't really do much about it, lest he wanted to sacrifice his job for the sake of a good night's sleep—which he didn't because college was a damn expensive bitch. He had no social life… not that he really had one before the subsequent onslaught of classes, but a guy could dream.

After all, given the fact that he had been an outcast most of his life—being homeschooled from kindergarten to eighth grade really set his social skills back beyond pathetic—Zexion had never learned how to properly communicate with others on a friendly basis. It was all "yes sir" or "no ma'am" or "how may I help you miss?" At least he knew his manners, which was more than he could say for the general populous.

Grumbling in his head, Zexion pulled open the back door to the 13 Knaves and slipped inside brushing some snow from his hair. It was getting much too cold to be commuting from school to home to work on foot, but he had no car so one would have to deal. Another sucky side effect of being a poor college kid.

And just as he was stripping off his standard-issued Couch Tomato server's vest (and exchanging it for the nipped gunmetal-grey he usually wore to hide the wine stains on his crisp white uniform shirt) Riku strolled into the back room and headed towards the stocking shelves. "Hey Zexion, you're late today. Xemnas is not pleased."

"Yes, thank you Riku, I hadn't realized." He intoned sarcastically, well aware of the fact that he was walking a fine line with his boss. Truthfully, Zexion should have been here twenty minutes ago, but it really wasn't his fault that there was a party of seven that refused to leave his serving area until much later than they were expected to. They hadn't even left a proper tip. It was not a good start to the evening.

"Your regular's here by the way." Riku added with a slight smile. But then again the start to the evening never truly affected its outcome unless you let it. Perhaps tonight wouldn't be too crappy after all.

Zexion left the back after he stowed the majority of his personal effects (wallet, books, and backpack) in the locker he and Riku shared. He relaxed monumentally upon entering the loud bar—yes the noise did not help his headache but the heat (no doubt derived from the sweaty bodies writhing on the dance floor) was doing for his frozen muscles.

He got to work immediately, taking the order of an overly-friendly gentleman in his late forties and giving him a pint off the tap. And then he spotted Demyx watching him wistfully from the corner of his eye… and like that his night brightened exponentially. Upon catching his eye, Demyx gave a brilliant smile and accompanying wave, staggering over to his serving area.

"Hey, Zex. How was work? You were late today; does that mean it wasn't all that great?" He asked happily, his mouth already shooting off a mile a minute. His skin was flushed (likely from the alcohol—the man never could hold his liquor) and bright eyes attentive.

Demyx's attention and genuine interest in his well-being had caught him off-guard at first, but Zexion had soon gotten use to the satirist's antics. He couldn't deny that Demyx had somehow wormed his way into the part of his brain that caused him to make generally irrational and reckless decisions.

After disregarding the fact that Demyx had noticed he was late—there was no saying what it would do to the odd squishy part in his chest that the man occupied—he responded with, "Yeah, I had a family that had little respect for the other party waiting on them to get up and vacate the premises so that they might enjoy a nice meal."

Demyx made a face and blew a raspberry. Yup, he was definitely tipsy. "How silly. That sounds like no fun. You know, we should have some fun. To-to make up for it ya'know?" Demyx flushed deeper, and Zexion smiled indulgently. It was unlikely that the man had meant to proposition him, alcohol makes people do things they didn't really mean to, but Zexion hid that question away in the squidgy Demyx-shaped part of his heart.

"You do realize I am working right?" he asked wiping down the sticky counter top with a damp washcloth.

Demyx visibly deflated. "Have fun after you're working?"

"It'll be two."

Demyx blew another raspberry. "That's not that late."

"Demyx, you crash before midnight—usually at the bar where Riku or I have to haul you back to the break room so that we can stow you there long enough to call you a cab and get you home in one piece."

"…still not late." He mumbled plopping down on the bar stool and burying his face into his half-finished pint.

Zexion smiled again in spite of himself and walked to the other side of the bar. With his tray in place, he began stacking empty wine glasses and beer bottles on the bit of wood to clear away for the comfort of other patrons. He was well aware of the sitar's stare as he worked diligently but tried desperately to ignore it.

What he was not expecting was for Demyx to appear behind him, get a firm grip on his tie, and yank him closer.

And oh good lord! He was kissing him. Deep and thoroughly, too. Definitely not the skill level he'd expect tasting that much alcohol on someone's tongue, but Demyx was methodic about it. Kissing bruisingly but also doing incredibly tender things with his tongue, making his head swim and the squishy part in his chest to swell.

Zexion prayed it wasn't just the alcohol, and kissed him back.

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**And it's finished! Maybe... So I've been thinking that I might add another chapter... but I haven't decided on it yet. Thoughts?**


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